by Aderyn Wood
Relief seemed to wash over Krasto’s face, smoothing his features. “And what shall we do with him?”
“He can rot in the cellar,” someone called out from the corner of the hall and murmurs of agreement followed.
“It seems to me that if Danael will be treated well, perhaps we ought to do the same for Sargan,” Rayna said. “His father is a king – a powerful khanax, his wrath will be set upon you if he finds his son has been maltreated in any way. It would put your son in a precarious position.”
The murmurs continued and Krasto now seemed wracked with indecision. This is where you need to lead, you stupid oaf.
“I will take him in.”
Silence fell as all eyes turned to Ana. She stood and faced the khanax. “I will take him. Mother will help him to speak our language and we will house and feed him. We will treat him respectfully and cause no anger on the part of the foreign khanax.”
“Ana, I’m not sure that is a good idea,” Krasto said.
“The cellar is the only place for him,” someone from the corner yelled again. Rayna squinted her eyes, it was Alf, another of Krasto’s supporters.
“I am happy to do it. Living with us, he will be away from the village.” Ana eyed some villagers close by. “You will barely know he lives among us.”
“Very well,” Krasto said, with a look of steaming hatred in his eyes. “It will do for now, but come the khanassa’s return we shall hold another mote to further consider the prisoner’s fate, and Rayna ilt Corva’s permanent ostracism from the clan.”
Rayna gave him a glower. Not if I can help it you won’t.
Yana
Yana was leading her flock back to the duckyard when she heard their voices. Her grandmother and that foreigner.
“That’s much better,” Grama was speaking in Yana’s secret language. Only it wasn’t Yana’s language at all. It was an ancient speech. Yana’s belly tightened with the betrayal. Why didn’t she tell me?
“We’ll make a bed of straw in the corner. I’m sure we can find a little table and chair for you too.”
“Thank you.”
Grama and the lad were in the goat-hus that stood adjacent to the duckyard. There were only two goats now since their old milking goat had been sacrificed to Aresja before Da had gone off warring.
Yana closed the gate to the duckyard and walked toward the goat-hus. It had been cleaned out. Cobwebs and dust all gone, and an old hide was nailed to the entrance.
“Ah, Yana,” Grama said, before looking at the foreigner. “This is my granddaughter I was telling you about, she speaks mountain speech too.”
Yana looked at Sargan who smiled. “Hello.” His eyes were strange, the colour of the sun. His hair was straight and black as coal and he didn’t bother tying it back in a braid. He was on the plump side. They must eat well where he came from.
Yana frowned then, when she realised what her grama had said and looked away. Mountain speech? I didn’t even know it had a name. It was strange to hear someone aside from herself or her grandmother speak it. Yana couldn’t control the hurt that forced its way up like an angry wave in the sea. “Ancient language? Why didn’t you tell me?” she snapped before she turned and stalked out of the yard.
Night had turned the walls of Yana’s little nook to coal, but sleep remained evasive, and she tossed and turned in her furs. Supper had been awkward to say the least. Yana hadn’t looked at the foreigner at all. He’d tried to speak to her. He’d asked her age, but Yana lifted her nose and spoke only to her mother in broken Drakian, ignoring all conversation in mountain speech. She’d ignored her grama too. And then her mother when she tried to say a few words of the mountain speech.
Ma never tries with me.
The curtains to her nook rustled and Yana pulled her bedcovers over her head and sank further into her mattress.
“Yana, my dear lass. I’m so sorry.”
The mattress moved as Grama sat on the edge of the bed.
“You’re angry I didn’t tell you about the mountain speech. I wanted to tell you, but I knew it would only rouse your curiosity. You’d have asked questions and I’d be forced to tell you the truth.”
Yana remained as still as an owl, but her ears yearned to hear more.
“You see, one day you’re to come away with me, to the mountains over the sea. And when you do I’ll teach you everything.”
Yana’s anger ebbed now, replaced by leaping curiosity, and before she knew it she’d turned to face her grandmother and pulled the covers down. “When will you take me?”
Grama smiled and patted Yana’s cheek with the palm of her hand. “Sweet lass, as soon as I can. I meant to take you with me when I leave this visit, but as your mother rightly pointed out, you should first say goodbye to your dear Da.”
Yana wiped her nose and nodded. “So, next time you visit? Is that when I shall go with you?
“I promise.”
“When will that be?”
“I cannot predict such a thing, though I hope it be before next summer. Before your Da goes off for his fill of more warring.” She lowered her chin along with her voice. “I’ll send you a dreaming, then you shall know when I’m coming. But now, there’s somewhat important you must do for me while I am gone.”
“What?”
“Look after Sargan.”
Yana’s pout returned. “I don’t want anything to do with him.”
“Child.” Grama’s voice was soft, and there was something else about her. Yana calmed suddenly, like her anger had dissolved the way salt did in boiling water. “I’m wrong to call you child. You’re a woman now, and that means sometimes doing things you don’t want to do. You must help him. You must help each other.”
“How?”
“You’ll be the only one who can understand him. You must help to translate what he says to the others.”
“But, my Drakian is still awful.”
Grama smiled. “That’s where he can help you, though you will not understand until it happens.”
“What do you mean?”
“You will teach each other Drakian. You will learn together.”
Yana pulled a face. No one had managed to teach her fully how to speak the tongue that should have come more naturally to her than any other language. She doubted the foreigner would. “Won’t he try to escape and run back to where he came from? That’s what I would do in his place.”
Grama raised her eyebrows. “What have I always told you, Yana? Use more than your eyes. When you look at Sargan, what do you see?”
“A fatso who wears curtains for clothes and speaks with a weird accent.”
“Let me tell you what I see. I see a young man who is frightened. He is from a strange land, and that means your lands are strange to him. He will not escape. He knows he is trapped here.”
Yana blinked. “What if he murders us in our sleep?”
“Now you’re being daft. It is late. Sleep on all I have said. Goodnight, my sweet.”
“Goodnight.”
Grama kissed Yana’s cheek then turned to go.
“Grama?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Won’t Sargan be cold in the goat-hus?”
Grama smiled. “He is as snug as you, with heavy furs and a clean straw mattress. Now goodnight. Sleep well.”
It seemed only a moment ago that Yana laid her head on the pillow, but when she opened her eyes the grey light of morning seeped in through the edges of her window shutter. Something had woken her. Voices wafted through the rondhus. A man’s voice? Da? Yana sat up, but stopped herself from getting out of bed. She recognised the voice with a sinking feeling. That’s not Da.
“Ana, I never meant to place this burden on you.” Yana opened her curtains just a notch. The khanax stood at the entrance of their little rondhus. He appeared hulking and awkward in the small space.
What’s he doing here?
“It’s quite all right,” Ma said. “My mother can understand him, and so can Yana, though she hasn’t warme
d to him as yet.” Ma stood with a pail of fresh goat milk. Had the khanax been waiting for her to arise?
His jaw worked from side to side. “I feel responsible. It all happened so quickly at the mote.” He ran a beefy hand along his head. “And with the warring, there’s no man up here near the forest, and you’re no warrior. I’d feel better if you and your daughter were to stay in the longhus until the khanassa gets back.”
Yana’s mouth flew open and she slapped her hands to her face. Live in the longhus? No!
“Thank you, but—” Ma turned to point at the table, and Yana drew the curtains tight, lest they see her. “I have my work here, and I don’t feel in any danger with Sargan here. He’s very polite.”
“Please.” The khanax’s voice was imploring. “Think about it. I’d feel better if I knew you were safe.”
“Thank you, Krasto.” It was Grama.
Yana opened the curtains again to peek. Her grandmother’s hair was a bird’s nest, and her face puffy. She’d not long woken herself. “We’ll be perfectly safe here,” she said as she casually ladled herself a bowl of broth from the pot on the fireplace.
The khanax had put his hand on Ma’s shoulder, but he now pulled it back and looked between the two women. “If you need me, Ana—”
“You still fancy my Ana, Krasto? After all this time?” Grama said from her seat at the table.
Yana’s eyes widened. What?
“You didn’t take too kindly to my answer all those years ago, did you? I see the desire in your eyes.” Grama’s eyes narrowed. “But you keep your burly clutches off her, or I’ll turn you into a toad.”
Krasto shot a finger forward, but his blushing cheeks bespoke his humiliation. “I haven’t forgotten my promise to you, old woman. As soon as my wife returns we shall hold that mote, and I have little doubt of the outcome.”
Grama wiped her mouth and lifted her chin. “Well, we shall see about that now shan’t we?”
“Thank you, Krasto.” Ma stood between them. “I appreciate your concern, and I will certainly heed your advice if I need.”
The khanax gave a curt nod. “Very well, good day, Ana.” Then he left.
Ma turned on Grama. “Why do you insist on stirring him up?”
Grama shrugged. “I was just considering that very question for myself.”
Ma’s eyes filled with tears. She flung onto a chair, put her elbows on the table and sobbed.
Yana’s vision blurred and she resisted the urge to run to her mother and throw her arms around her.
Grama reached over and put a hand on Ma’s shoulder. “Life is so difficult here for you, my dear.”
Ma wiped her nose and her shoulders shook as she inhaled a deep breath. “I just wish Petar would return. But now—” She sniffed. “Now when he does so, Krasto will surely convince Ashrael to cast you out, and I will never see you again.”
“Daughter,” Grama said. “I’ve some news for you, some good, and some… well not so bad.”
Ma’s red eyes looked straight at Grama. “Bad? What is it?”
“I told you, it’s not so bad.”
“Tell me.”
“I’ll be leaving this forsaken village this very night.”
“No,” Yana whispered. Please don’t.
Ma’s eyes gleamed once more. “Why? What about Sargan? Ma, you can’t leave me with him.”
“Shhhh, Sargan is a pleasant soul. You’ll see. He will fit in here I know it, and—” Grama leaned forward and whispered something that Yana couldn’t hear, though she thought she heard her own name mentioned. “What’s more,” Grama said, her voice returning to its previous volume. “I’ve no intention of hanging around waiting for Krasto to tie me to a stake with that awful seer watching on. I won’t give them that satisfaction.”
Ma frowned. “They wouldn’t do that, Ma. You’re just being stubborn now.”
“Aye, and it’s how I’ve survived all these years. But I will return to see you and Yana, and no one will know naught of it.”
“That’s not possible.”
“It is. I’ll remain in the forest. You can smuggle me into the rondhus at night.” Grama clutched Ma’s hand again. “You will see me again.”
Ma closed her eyes squeezing out more tears.
“Would you like t’ other news?”
Ma opened her eyes, nodding.
“Petar will return in less than five days.”
Yana smiled as Ma’s hands flew to her chest. “Are you certain?”
“I am. There is something I want you to give to him. I will leave a small token on this table before the dawn. You must give it to Petar. Tell him to wear it about his neck at all times, and keep it well hidden.”
Ma’s face paled. “An amulet?”
“Of a kind.”
“He’s in danger?”
Grama closed her eyes for a moment, and Yana sensed her worry. She swallowed hard as the vision of the knives in his back returned. Da’s in danger.
“Ana,” Grama said, as she looked at Ma. “He is a seasoned warrior. I worry for him, of course. Consider this an added protection. I'm sure you will appreciate it as much as he does.”
“Yes, and thank you.”
“Now,” Grama said, turning around in her chair. “Let’s get your daughter out and find out how much she has heard of our conversation this miserable morn.”
Yana slammed the curtains together too late. Grama’s dark eyes had found her own.
“Out you come, Yana. Time for breakfast.”
Rayna
At midnight, deep within the forest, a small fire blazed. Rayna stood before it, feeding the flames branches she’d collected on her way. Rhast perched nearby on a low tree limb, and Rayna stepped over to pluck one of his feathers.
He squawked.
“It’s a worthy cause,” she told him.
She sat by the fire and placed the feather to the side as she warmed her hands. She retracted the pouch tied to a strap of leather she wore around her neck and opened it. Inside nestled the lump of black stone. Rayna brought it out and marveled at the way it reflected the flames, warming instantly.
Dragonshade.
With her bone dagger she scraped a fine shaving from the stone and dropped the sliver into the small bone pot, already filled with water. She placed the pot on the coals and sat back to wait, thinking of the omens she’d seen, and the dreams she’d envisioned, and hoping her fears would never come true.
The water simmered and she set it to the side to cool. The familiar bitterness of cooked dragonshade filled the air. Its taste was always vile, but it would feed her the power necessary to forge the talisman. It would also aid her weary bones on the long journey to come.
When it had cooled enough, she lifted it to her lips and drained it in one gulp. Its acrid texture burned her throat and stomach, but she kept it down. In another breath the first flourish of power manifested, and the heat of the dragonshade pervaded her entire body from crown to toes. Rayna’s sight shifted to the Otherworld without her even willing it. The silver of the rocks, the blue aether of the living trees and shrubs, the golden aura of her own hands, all grew vivid and fluid in this realm – the realm of magic.
Rayna took slow breaths, calming her heart, attempting to placate the rush. It was euphoric and the temptation to give in to the rapture rose as it always did – to dance, naked, by the fire, or lay on her back and marvel at the stars, but Rayna was used to its effects and her sharp sorcerer’s mind deftly resisted the black stone’s call to pleasure.
She forced her vision back from the Otherworld and turned her attention to the other objects she’d gathered. Wood sap of an ancient oak coalesced on a leaf in a honey-coloured glob. She plucked black strands from Rhast’s feather, then an equal measure from a mountain owl’s – Petar would need their watchfulness, their wariness. She placed the feather fibers on the shell she’d found on the mountaintop that summer. It was a clam shell, potent with the drive for protectiveness. Finally, she wove one strand of her black
hair into a knot and rested it on the shell. Then she scooped the wood sap within the shell and held the object in her open hands as she stood by the fire once more.
Her arms tingled with dragonshade now. Sweat dampened her forehead, but it was the sense of lightness that held sway – as though she could float up to the stars.
It’s time.
She looked up to the universe, and awareness filled her. The essence of the world and her own being, the presence of the Old Ones, the power of the stone. It all converged.
“Ona-Maya, cantor bera vey!” she called to the old ones in their ancient tongue.
A breeze stirred, and as Rayna chanted it grew until her silvery-black hair whipped at her face and the flames leaned sideways.
“Asecer, Dovi, Gut, Echatra…” on she chanted and on the wind blew.
The shell in her hand grew hot until she could hold it no more. “Ona-Maya, eqipa bera Petar ilt Atanas-Corva. Petar,” she shouted, and switched to Drakian, “Here me, Old Ones! I beg of your protection for the mortal, Petar of Varg Isht. Bind us with this token.”
She threw the sap-filled shell on the fire. It blazed brightly like dragon’s breath. The power surged through Rayna’s body and her legs would hold her no longer. She crumpled to the ground and gave in to the darkness that now embraced her as her feather cloak had.
By the time Rayna made it back to the rondhus, fiery tendrils pierced the gloomy eastern sky. The heat of the dragonshade still ran through her veins. She’d woken in the forest with a renewed vigor, as though she’d slept for a night and a day. Her limbs didn’t tire as they made the trek back. The power of the black stone would remain with her for many days yet. Perhaps even until the next moon or beyond.
Her raven squawked and spiraled up to perch upon the cherry tree by the rondhus.
“Aye, wait for me here, Rhast. I shan’t be long.”
She opened the door with utter silence, and tread so lightly that a mouse wouldn’t have twitched an ear. The cook fire burned low, giving off a rosy glow. The rondhus smelled of Ana’s herbs and last night’s stew. At the table, Rayna paused and brought the talisman out from her sleeve. It shone with liquid fire. The etchings of the feathers giving it texture. The clam shell had burnt back to the ridges. Held up to the light, the whole charm gleamed with translucence.
